The Garden
by Sempra Viridis
Summary: Severus Snape and Pomona Sprout discuss gardening. It is not all sunshine and roses.


The greenhouse was loamy and warm, with condensation gathered on the glass panes. Afternoon sun was slanting through the sprays of verdant ferns and lobed leaves. In the back corner, behind racks of pots and trowels, two figures crouched in the soil.

Pomona Sprout wore her usual patched and dirt-spattered robes, her roughspun hat perched jauntily on her mass of wild gray curls. She was plunging a spade deep into the moist earth, then reaching her well-calloused fingers into the brown particles and attempting to extract a rather woody weed.

Her gardening partner was a dark shadow, a slender black calla lily in a garden full of marigolds. He was kneeling, bent over a half-meter tall plant with drooping, blue-purple petals. His lank onyx hair fell forward, obscuring his dark eyes and hooked nose. Instead of his usual sweeping black robes, he wore a pair of graying slacks that may have once been black and a knitted gray jumper. He reached a pale hand down to his side and picked up two thick, dragonhide gloves, sliding them on carefully and reaching for a pair of small shears.

Pomona cleared her throat. "All right, Severus?" She gave a tentative half-smile.

Severus turned to her, his eyes emotionless. "Yes, thank you, Pomona."

"The wolfsbane is watered enough, I'll wager?"

Severus returned a small, crooked, ever-so-slight smile. "Perfectly, as always. Not too moist, not too dry."

Pomona nodded briskly. "Excellent. Didn't want to drown the poor dear."

Severus was turned back to the plant, inspecting the flared flowers. "The roots are quite friable," he said softly, turning the flowers this way and that with a delicate, gloved touch. "You've done a remarkable job keeping it alive through the year. It is a decidedly uneasy task." With a flick of his wrist, he snipped several flowers off, catching them in his gloved palm. He gently deposited it in a small leather satchel that rested at his knee.

"You're quite knowledgeable about the plants here," Pomona said, wrenching her spade around and thrusting it deeper into the earth. She grunted. "Horace would come in for a bit and poke around, but usually left me to do the dirty work." She triumphantly extracted the gnarled, woody root of the troublesome weed, hoisting it up and shaking free any loose dirt. She grinned. "Not that I mind, of course."

Severus curled his lip. "Horace was _adept_ , shall we say. He was not _exemplary_ by any means." He shifted to his left, inspecting another cluster of blooms. He tilted them this way and that, admiring them in the light. He picked off a bloom that had died, the fringes of its petal wilted and brown. "I prefer to select my plants with due diligence and care." He gave a feral grin. "Then if the dunderheads muck it up, they can't claim the plants are to blame."

Pomona gave a short laugh despite herself. "I remember you as an astute herbology student, Severus, but never would have imagined you'd be back as a professor, kneeling in the grimy dirt and tending to my lovelies. You always hated dirt."

Severus nodded. "I find filth distasteful." Pomona looked offended for a moment, but he continued. "But I do not find this to be filth." He looked up, and his eyes were distant. "Rivers swollen with refuse and debris are filthy, bottles of ale still sticky with the imbibing are filthy. Rooms smelling of ash are filthy." He turned back to the plant, admiring it again. "Not this."

Pomona stood and moved to another weed, a much smaller one this time. She settled in and began digging. "There is something to be said for tending to that which needs caring for."

Severus nodded quietly.

"When my babes were young, oh so long ago, I thought raising them would be just like tending to plants. More the fool I! Can't water a babe." She laughed heartily. "But I watched them grow and blossom all the same. At least the plants took root and stayed here." She sighed wistfully. "Nevertheless, love is love and I love my babes and my plants."

Severus was silent, though his shears clipped a bit louder than usual.

Pomona continued. "There's a certain kind of love that goes into gardening, I say. A love for the sun and the soil and the greenery, yes, but there's also a love that speaks of patience and diligence and the expectation of what's to come."

Severus shook his head. "I find that love takes no part in my herbology."

Pomona drew back, pressing a soil-caked hand to her breast. "No, Severus?"

Severus blinked. "Herbology is a science. The science of temperature, light, soil, water. It is much like a potion's classroom, in fact. If you combine the correct ingredients, the correct measurements, you will brew, so to speak, a successful plant. If you do not, it will die." He said bitterly, mouth twisted, "Love has no part, in either potions or planting."

Pomona turned and cupped a delicate, bright coral flower. "But the beauty of this flower, Severus, is it not a product of love? A burden of love, to watch it grow and bloom?"

Severus knitted his brows together. "No. It is a product of fertilization and germination. A burden of science and experimentation." He tilted his head. "Love is not a measurable component."

Pomona sighed. "Oh, Severus. You simply don't understand."

Severus stared into her with a look that allowed for no argument. "I _do_ understand, Pomona. I understand perfectly." He stood and gathered his satchel, now full of delicate blooms. He bowed stiffly. "I thank you for the use of your plants and your greenhouse. I shall see you next week, then?"

Pomona sighed heavily. "Of course, Severus." She watched him walk away, shoulders hunched, gait unsteady as he navigated through various plants, herbs, and flowering shrubs.

At the door, he stopped next to her tall, slender asphodel plant. He bent to inhale the scent of the white flowers, then walked into the sunset. His shadow was dark against the light.


End file.
